Dear Diary, 29
by BlueFlame013
Summary: Very short one-shot. Human!Russia. Based on 29 years of Ivan's life. Don't read this if you don't like messed up stuff. Rated M for just, stuff. I really don't know what genre this is, so I just went for angst... I don't know.


**Ok, so this isn't supposed to be accurate, I'm tired, and I saw this video: watch?v=nhgq9eFQybc and this just came to me - I couldn't ****_not_**** write it, ok? I'm sorry if it offends anyone, I truly am.. it's not meant to be like that :(  
In this, the characters are NOT countries, they are humans. Jus' saying. So this isn't meant to have anything to do with history, technically.**

**I seem to like writing depressing things, so I'm sorry... :/**

**And I know this is probably a little hard to understand, so please bare with me.**

**'****_He'_**** - aka, the man Ivan keeps mentioning, is General Winter. I don't have a name for him though.**

**'The boy' - that one's kind of obvious. It's Lithuania / Toris.  
I keep seeing pictures of Liet with scars on his back, and there were a couple of them in that video, so I decided to put that in.**

**The woman Ivan mentions when he is 7 is his mother. Please don't flame me, I know this is messed up .**

**Translation notes:**

_Prastee meenya pozhalosta =_ **please forgive me (I didn't write it in actual Russian, because 1. I only found it written phonetically, and 2. When I'm reading things, I like to know how the words are supposed to sound, at least)**

* * *

**Four years old.**  
I can't see much, the room only has one small window, through which thin rays of light shoot.  
Someone is crying, but I don't know who. Perhaps my mother. I want to comfort her, but I don't know where she is.

**Six years old.**  
White flakes swirl past my face, and I pull my old scarf tighter around my neck. Winter is always brutal, but I have learned to like the snow.

**Seven years old.**  
I rest my chin on my knees, my back to the wall. My breathing is shallow and rapid, and I can hear shouting in the next room. She lies there, at my feet, and she isn't breathing anymore. I couldn't help it... _he _told me to kill her. I had no choice. My tears are warm, and I half hope I don't stop crying because my face is like ice.

**Ten years old.**  
He says I'm getting better now. He says I'm starting to act like his son - I'm not sure if I'm happy about that.  
The snow is almost up to my knees, but I don't care. I cover my mouth and nose with my scarf, and carry on into the trees. I have to get away from here, even if it's not for long.

**Twelve years old.**  
How does it feel to smile? To be warm?  
To be happy?

**Fifteen years old.**  
This weapon is too large for me; my hands are only small.  
Why does he make me do this? She looks so scared.  
"_Prastee meenya pozhalosta_," I whisper before pulling the trigger.

**Seventeen years old.**  
The boy seems frightened, but he is the kindest soul I've met in a long time. His dog doesn't like me though. I tell him we can be friends, but I would have to be free first.  
He doesn't understand.

**Twenty six years old.**  
He is still not gone, but I feel freer... I am allowed to think, but I'm not sure I know how anymore.

**Twenty eight years old.**  
I told him I wanted to be friends. Now the boy's screams echo through the trees. Those same trees I wandered through when I was a child.  
I turn to the boy, and he pulls against my grasp, though it is no use. I say I only wanted to be friends, but he shouts for help.  
I want to smile at him, to invite him over and have a harmless drink with him, but I do not know how. I don't think I know how to smile, I was never taught.

**Thirty years old.**  
The boy is not moving, but I don't think he's dead. His blood seeps out from the deep gashes on his back, and pool onto my floor. He will have to clean that later, I'm sure he won't mind.

**Thirty three years old.**  
Summer is so beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the winters. Maybe more.  
I could watch the sunflower field for as long as I live. I sit on my hill, surrounded by the tall, fiery suns, and I feel like my heart is finally warm.


End file.
